


rochade

by Anonymous



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Blow Jobs, Brother/Brother Incest, Consensual Underage Sex, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time Blow Jobs, Grooming, Humiliation, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, MIYASUNA, Mental Health Issues, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:55:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27442996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Suna used to make them kiss as kids.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Miya Osamu
Comments: 8
Kudos: 123
Collections: Anonymous





	rochade

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tajemnica](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tajemnica/gifts), [punicagranatum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/punicagranatum/gifts).



> rochade: a chess move, also referred to as “castling” that involves the king and the rook switching positions on the board, usually as a way to protect the king and free the rook.

Suna used to make them kiss as kids. Not in a mean way but always on the mouth. 

He’d watch and get a boner. This was years ago when they were young and full of tension that didn’t yet have a name. They had no one but each other. To peek at, to ask: does this feel good, does it feel the same?

Even so Suna knew it was wrong because he rejoiced seeing it much the same way they got a high off of stealing candy and lighters from the local store, and setting shit on fire. 

There was a thrill to rebelling, knowing it was gross and doing it anyway, doing it because it was gross, their first taste of independence. They could do anything and everything just because they wanted to. 

Osamu remembers it fondly. He’d seen people make out and the act itself seemed grotesque to his twelve-year-old brain but he shared food with Atsumu and they mouthed each other’s popsicles. They had spitting contests, pissing contests, used to bathe in the same tub. Atsumu’s tongue in his mouth, flicking against his teeth was nothing he hadn’t before tasted. Granted, it looked a whole lot drier when adults did it. 

Atsumu liked it too, maybe more, because he used to insist they do it when it was the two of them underneath the covers without Suna prompting it. He’d crawl into Osamu’s bunk and go straight for his mouth, forcing his tongue inside and rocking back and forth on his thigh. 

For practice, he’d say. For practice, Osamu whispered back. And they “practiced” how hard they could grind against each other, fighting over who’d “lose” first. Atsumu, always, shuddering, and Osamu, right after seeing Atsumu’s flushed face scrunch up in pleasure that looked like it hurt him. He’d have loud, keening orgasms.

They used to call it “cum-pissing” because Suna had taught them “cum” but not “cumming” yet. He taught them everything in this regard, that “cocks” go into “pussies” when you “fuck” and how to “milk” them when you’re doing it yourself by “going up and down like this” and how to suck “tits” and that when they’re perky it’s a good thing. Without him, they might have never known or tried.

At least that’s what Atsumu likes to think because it’s easier to put it on someone else and Suna, the easiest in Atsumu’s list of blame-takers because Suna loved messing with him and was the one to “steal” his brother when he finally decided he had “fucked enough cunt” and needed some stability in shape of Osamu consistently spreading his legs for him despite Suna never quite deciding if he wanted to be “faggy.”

Suna got under Atsumu’s skin more than Osamu ever could. To this day, still does. That’s why he’s sitting on the other end of Osamu’s couch with Osamu on his lap despite Atsumu being there too, glaring back at him, despite this being their “twin night” and Atsumu wanting to be with Osamu alone. 

There’s a movie playing that no one’s watching. Atsumu’s socks are red and mismatched. Osamu had been staring at them and Atsumu wiggling his toes to tease him, when Suna noticed. 

“Shoulda had you suck each other,” Suna tells Atsumu. “You’d have learned a thing about putting that dumb mouth to good use.”

Because Atsumu had been ranting, reminiscing, about Suna and how they’d met after Suna had knocked some kid’s teeth in and earned himself a split lip in return, and how he’s probably a psychopath, and the kissing finally came up after years of avoiding the topic. 

It stopped when they were sixteen. Suna got bored and started craving girls. He’d finger their panties and tell them all about it. “They get so wet down there.”

Atsumu referenced this a lot. It’s like the thought took hold and possessed him. He’d touch Osamu’s mouth as substitute, dip his fingers past Osamu’s lips over his tongue and jerk himself off in his pajama pants until he came, shaking, and collapsed over Osamu’s legs. 

Osamu would make him pay for it, only fair they both used their mouths. It wouldn’t take much to make him finish. Just Atsumu’s big eyes, glazed over in lust, as he licked wet stripes up and down his twitching cock from his balls to the sticky head, peeking from under the foreskin.

Osamu doesn’t realize until Suna’s back and hoisting him on a table that they have been doing it all wrong. Suna takes him in his mouth, swallows him to the hilt, in two sucks has him writhing. He wipes the smirk against the back of his hand. “Virgin, huh? Wait ‘til I finger your ass. You’ll be crying. You can’t last for shit. Such a fucking baby.” 

And Osamu remembers thinking, fuck, that was so good. And, wait til I show Tsumu. 

Atsumu cums equally fast if not quicker. He’s already twitching in Osamu’s hand by the time Osamu wets his lips, hesitating, trying to remember how Suna avoided cutting him on his teeth. He has only mouthed things to eat them. 

Atsumu vibrates below him, tugging on his lower lip, arms flat against the bed like Osamu instructed him: “Don’t move, don’t scream, don’t touch me and don’t make me if I hate it. And don’t whine if I stop.”

It tastes salty. Atsumu moans and arches. His dick slides across Osamu’s cheek instead of the inside of his mouth. “Lick me,” Atsumu mewls, missing the point and squirming around to rub against him some more. 

Osamu smacks his thigh, pinning his hips down. “Don’t move, I said.” 

Atsumu stills immediately. “Mmokay, “ he mumbles. He’s not used to waiting. They didn’t know they had to. That was never part of the game. It was a matter of pride to cum fast. What’s the use in holding back? If it feels good then take it. They were born without those boundaries. “Hurry, hurts,” Atsumu gets impatient.

Osamu spreads his mouth around him, slowly at first, just the tip, experimenting, feeling the swollen, velvety skin against his tongue, the heaviness of his erection.

“Stop,” Atsumu gasps, “Stop. If you do that, I’m gonna get it on you.” 

Osamu lowers down further, takes him deeper, until Atsumu’s cock is pressing all the way to the back of his tongue, gagging him. He tries sucking like you’d do on a chuupet, pressing his lips around the hardness and hollowing his cheeks.

Atsumu snaps his hips forward with a strangled cry, lodging himself down his throat, stretching his mouth until his cheeks ache and he thinks he might tear up. “No, Sam—Samu, I’m—I’m gonna—I’m gonna cum in your mouth,” he keeps freaking out. “Get off.”

Osamu tries talking around him but it doesn’t work. He pulls off to breathe and say, “That’s the point, dumbass. It feels good. Trust me, ok?”

“I can?” Atsumu asks, wide-eyed. “In your mouth?”

He gets in the mood fast after that nod of permission. “Yeah, fuck, wow, wow, so good, wow, ah—careful, this is so nice, this is so g—good, you’re so good, fuck, fuck, you’re making me cum already, gonna cum, gonna cum.” 

Whatever comes out of him is warm, gooey and bitter. Osamu spits it back out on his softening dick as Atsumu’s eyes roll back to the front, blissed out. He’s grinning like an idiot. His thighs shaking like Suna says happens to girls when they “gush.” Osamu feels a sick sense of pride doing it to him. 

“I’ll suck you too,” Atsumu promises. You better, Osamu thinks, glancing down at the sticky wetness on his crotch. 

Without Suna, some parts stopped. Most parts lingered. In bits and pieces, pitch-black darkness punctuated by staccato breaths, bad nights calmed only with lips on wet cheeks, lips on fingers, lips on thighs, vows in shape of hickeys, unspoken promises that nothing breaks this bond, the world can fucking fuck itself. 

Bad, wretched nights where being bad and wretched took off some of the edge. The night they lost at Nationals and Atsumu couldn’t stop sucking on his neck and nipples. The night Osamu said no, to volleyball, to doing this, being Atsumu’s crutch when he could handle the world without it—him. If one of them had to be fucked in the head, it would be easier to have that be Osamu. Atsumu had a career in front of him. He was going pro. He could be “normal.” 

So it stopped. Only for Osamu to turn around years later and need him more, be the one begging for one last time, after work, at their afterparty, the night Atsumu came to him, drunk and sniffling because some guy broke his heart and he missed “his baby Samu” and Osamu dropped to his knees to comfort him. So it restarted.

“Yeah, figures you’d get off on it,” Atsumu scoffs, making this about Suna when it’s about the three of them, a mistake they made together and will always share. 

Suna eyes him hungrily. Osamu knows that look well. It’s the look that says I’m in the mood to watch you ride me until your legs spasm and give out because: “You aren’t a volleyball guy anymore, huh, Samu? Letting yourself go? Can’t even make your boyfriend cum, what are you good for?” before slamming his dick up into Osamu’s abused hole until he’s dripping lube and semen.

“I get off on it so much,” Suna mocks, draping on the couch, observing him. “Gonna perform for me some more, Tsum-Tsum?” 

Atsumu stiffens at the nickname. Before ‘Tsumu’ was a cool thing, an Aran thing, “Tsum-Tsum” was Suna’s thing for him and would get Atsumu to do just about anything, eat bugs, drop his pants, piss in public. Suna would pull his hair and call him that and Atsumu would spent the whole week yapping about it. It’s Osamu who’s marrying Suna but Atsumu always wanted to in a strange, fucked up way. He wanted to punch him and hurt him and for Suna to spank him and hurt him back and kiss him better all at once.

When Osamu tells him they’re together “for real this time” Atsumu only cares that he can still do this. This, being his hand down Osamu’s pants, grabbing at his dick. This, being what they do right after, laughing and cursing at each other, as they stumble to the mattress, wrestling for who’ll be the “boy” and who’ll be the “bitch boy.”

Is it cheating? Sure, though what he and Atsumu have is not sexual, not in “a normal people sense.” But “in a normal people sense,” it would be cheating to sleep with people who aren’t your fiancée. Suna never makes it clear. The older Osamu gets, the less fucks he gives about shit he never learned to care about. “Being good” means nothing as long as you play along and pretend to be around others. Suna gets this, taught him this, how to lie, how to hustle, how to survive. That’s why Osamu loves him. That’s what their vows are all about. 

And yet, Osamu wishes Atsumu hadn’t opened this can of worms. Vows are best left untested. 

“Must suck to know your boyfriend’s had better,” Atsumu runs his mouth. It’s mortifying to see how easily Suna baits him. Atsumu is twenty-five but around Suna, twelve, wimpy, stuttering. 

“Shut up,” Osamu scolds him, more exasperated than mad. He looks back at Suna to figure out how to mediate, a role he’s well-versed in, but sees Suna’s amused face not really in need of damage control.

“What?” Atsumu catches on. 

“You still fuck him, don’t you?” Suna says, bursting into laughter. “Fucking hell, I actually fucked you two up for life.” And he’s so proud of himself. 

Osamu should be ashamed but maybe Suna is right and he did. Atsumu certainly thinks so and it’s good for him to think so, it’s good for him to have someone to despise. Maybe they were fucked up to begin with and found each other to have an excuse.

“Really, Atsumu?” Suna’s still cackling. “You can’t get anyone else to fuck you? You need your baby brother to get your dick hard? Can you even get it up with anyone else?”

Atsumu reddens in an instant. Osamu feels the sharp ache of his terror against his own rib cage. The downside of twinning, the invisible umbilical cord between them transmitting every emotion back and forth without barriers, made worse by whatever “intimacies” they’ve shared beyond being forever in each other’s reach. 

It’s easy to pretend when it’s the two of them that this exists in a different realm where there are no rules. As long as it stays there, it’s no harm no foul, no danger. Suna threatens that, the Dante in their own personal hell, walking around like he belongs but just as quick to leave. 

“Not true,” Atsumu mumbles. “I fuck others too.”

“Too?” Suna repeats amazed. Osamu bitterly thinks there’s no need to be. Tsumu has always been this easy for him, this dumb. 

Atsumu swallows loudly. “Samu—” he whines.

“Aw, deny it a little,” Suna boasts. “Make me work for it. You are fucking my husband. I think I deserve to have some fun being pissed at you, land a punch or two, make you cry.”

Atsumu looks lost. So he looks to Osamu. Always getting himself into shit. Always needing Osamu to pull him out. Osamu won’t let him get hurt but Atsumu deserves to and Osamu deserves to be the one doing it. 

“Don’t you think it’s weird?” Osamu asks Suna.

“It’s so weird,” Suna drills them. Atsumu’s looking at his hands. “Disgusting. Appalling! Criminal!” Suna vents, as if he hasn’t confessed to Osamu on multiple occasions he feels guilty about how bad he wants both of them on his cock, licking, sucking, kissing. He wants them to fuck each other. They’ve fucked in Atsumu’s clothing, his jerseys too. They’ve fucked with him next door.

Suna feels like shit after or at least acts it to maintain some semblance of normalcy. They’re an average couple with kinks and preferences. Roleplay. Shame-play. Osamu forgives him way too quickly. There’s no way Suna didn’t know.

“Let’s see if you’ve improved,” Suna says. “You should thank me, Tsumu. I’ve given your brother so many lessons.” It’s ironic how true that is. 

Osamu smiles to himself. Suna’s hand find his jaw and twists his face towards him to claim his lips for a wet kiss. Suna’s eyes open and on Atsumu.

“Does he do the tongue thing with you? What was it again, babe?” He nudges Osamu cheek with his nose. To Osamu: “Spelling words?” To Atsumu: “He’s cute, isn’t he?”

“You’re disgusting,” Atsumu trembles. “Samu, you’re dating a fucking freak.” 

But his eyes follow Suna’s hand as it drifts down Osamu’s body to grope his dick above his pants. He’s not hard but Suna knows how to make him. He’s rubbing rough enough to entice. When he squeezes, it’s Atsumu, who bites down a gasp. “Don’t do that in front of me, you fucking freak,” he tries hoarsely. 

“Ouch. You’re gonna hurt my feelings,” Suna mocks. “You wanna kiss him or should I, Tsum-Tsum?” he challenges, digging the heel of his palm into the growing bulge. 

“Samu,” Atsumu orders. Osamu shivers, hearing it. He has never said no to _that_. “Come.”

They were gonna do this then. It was only a matter of time. It would be utterly appalling if they both weren’t so damn predictable.

“Who fucks you better?” Atsumu whines when he mounts him like a dog. Suna’s the exact same, except he wants the answer to be Atsumu. He wants to fuck Osamu brainless and have him lie that Atsumu does it better. It drives him wild to not be good enough, to think he’s fucking “loose holes,” sucking someone else’s cum off his boyfriend’s asshole. Suna’s dating him because of this, which is fine because he’s dating Suna because of this too.

“Samu,” Atsumu repeats annoyed.

Osamu promised he’d pick him above everyone but Suna holds him tight by the waist, by his balls. “Come get him,” he purrs, his mouth lowering on Osamu’s neck, as his hand slides underneath the waistband of his pants to cup his dick. 

Osamu hisses at the contact, fully hard and waiting. Suna drags his cold fingers up and down prepping him, spreading the precum for a smoother rub, teasing his fluttering hole. “Or I’ll have all the fun.”

Atsumu gulps. His wild eyes find Osamu’s. “Can we trust him?” the question swirling in them. 

Suna might have been the one to initiate but he has not seen half the shit they’ve done, not even ninety-percent. And while he might like the idea of twins fucking because it’s taboo and weird and he likes weird things, it’s different to actually see it happen. 

See the way Atsumu’s pupils dilate when Suna finally takes Osamu’s dick out of his sweatpants and grabs it at the base, showing off its hardness. He’s pulsing, dripping. He wants this. 

Atsumu licks his lips, watching Suna’s fingers slide up and down. There’s a bulge in his gym shorts. Osamu reaches for it, stretching his leg across the couch to press the heel of his foot against it, knowing Atsumu never wears underwear, especially not on nights it’ll be the two of them. 

“Only if he stops touching you,” Atsumu says between heavy breaths, eyes glued to Osamu’s. 

Suna removes his hands, letting his dick arch against his stomach, pooling clear liquid on his skin. He makes a show of keeping them raised like he’s surrendering. It’s never that easy but Osamu’s too horny to warn Atsumu that making a deal with Suna is trying to trick the devil. 

“Come, pretty boy,” Suna leads him to the trap. “He’s all yours.”

Atsumu smirks at the sight. He shuffles across the couch to sit between Osamu’s legs, looks down at him, drunk with need. Osamu feels his matching boner poke against the back of his thigh near his ass. He has no time to beg before Suna fists Atsumu’s hair and shoves his head towards Osamu’s cock, smashing his face against it. Twin moans fill the static air. Osamu thinks he might cum. Atsumu probably has. 

“You said nothing about touching you,” Suna points out. “Now open wide. He’s too small to lose more inches.” 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Happy 07/11. Part of a series of three.


End file.
